Bound by Flame (36 page)

Nothing happened. Her fellow warriors didn’t know what to do.

They were confused. Afraid to act. Not certain of the consequences to her.

Neither was she.

Though she felt certain Jake wouldn’t hurt her.

“That’s it,” Delilah said, sounding delighted. “Take what’s yours. Now go on. Get out of here!”

Snapping and cracking echoed through the room. Sister Julia’s body twitched and jerked on the floor behind her, flopping into Cynda’s ankles.

A single gunshot blasted through the house, followed by thumps and bangs from the kitchen.

“They’ve freed the shackled demons,” called a nearby Sibyl—Harper Ellis. Cynda recognized the voice. “What do we do?”

“Be still,” Cynda instructed, praying to the Goddess she was making the correct call. “Just…wait.”

She thought she knew what was happening. She didn’t know if it was a good thing or a bad thing—but deep in her soul, she was certain it was a
right
thing.

Cynda didn’t think anyone ought to get in the way.

“Thank you,” Jake said, this time loud enough for everyone to hear. “Search Sister Julia’s room upstairs. You don’t have much time.”

The demon let go of her.

Still smoking like an industrial chimney, Cynda stepped away from the wall, rubbed her wrists, and gazed down at Sister Julia’s body through a haze. The dead woman’s hand drifted upward. A ring slid off her finger and vanished.

Jake’s ring. The other half of his talisman. Gone, like so many of the other talismans the woman had been wearing. The demons might have trampled Cynda and Nick, they were so desperate to get those chains and rings.

Seconds later, energy surged through the room, then seemed to rush away, leaving the house altogether.

“They’ve gone,” Delilah said from her perch at the top of the steps. “Godspeed to them that belongs to God.”

Nick grumbled to himself about brothers and demons and kicking ass.

Cynda let out a shaky breath of relief.

Nick’s brother Jake was his own man again. Well, his own Astaroth. The people who created him had died the previous fall, so his talisman wouldn’t force him to return to any master. He was free now. She hoped the same was true for the other demons, or at least most of them.

As the OCU and Sibyls crowded in, pointing and asking questions, Cynda realized a few pieces of jewelry still remained. The sight of those few gold chains jabbed at her conscience, and a tiny bit of darkness settled inside her at the thought of how many Astaroths might have been innocent, unable to stop their own actions. She knew it would never go away, that little stain inside her, and her heart ached for Nick, and what he must feel over the deaths of his family members.

She wished she could wrap her arms around Nick, hold him, and never have to let him go. With what she was feeling over this small tragedy, she couldn’t imagine the hurt burdening his spirit over the major losses in his life.

But she’d work to heal it. Somehow, she’d find a way.

His hand brushed her shoulder. When she met his gaze, his dark eyes looked bright and concerned, as if he might know exactly what she was thinking.

“They’re gone,” she said. “All the captive demons.”

He nodded. Seemed relieved.

“How many down?” she asked Harper without looking away from Nick.

“We’ve got four wounded,” the young fire Sibyl answered. “And three dead.” She named two of the North Staten Island triad and one of the initiates, and more darkness drifted into Cynda. Tears burned in her eyes. She couldn’t let herself start crying now, or she’d never stop.

She so wished Riana and Merilee were here. Maybe they had reached Atlanta by now.

Please bring them home to me, safe and sound and in one piece. Please.

Sal Freeman edged in beside them and gazed down at Sister Julia’s body. He rubbed the back of his head. “That shed was full of Curson demons, had to be twenty of them, crammed like sardines, standing like statues—but they’re gone now. Took off, all of them. We…didn’t feel right shooting them.”

Before Cynda could say anything, he added, “I’ve called for ambulances and the morgue. Half my people are unconscious from the fight, and I’ve got four dead.”

More darkness.

More death.

Cynda closed her eyes, feeling some of the fire inside her shrink to embers. She had never been so tired in her entire life. She wanted off that landing, out of the Ozone house, and back to the townhouse, to shower and sleep for a month.

But from all the way upstairs, Delilah Moses called, “Here. I think this is what he meant.”

Somehow, Cynda found the strength to look at the amazing little woman. Delilah’s hands were still shackled, but she stood near the top step, held up her arms, and waved papers tightly clenched between her fisted fingers. Her bare foot tapped impatiently on the wood floor.

Cynda had no idea what Delilah was talking about.

“He said to search her room, didn’t he?” Delilah gave her an exasperated frown even as Nick started up the stairs, moving much slower than usual. “That demon who was always so nice to me. Jake. I think he wanted you to find these.”

Nick managed to smile at Delilah as he reached her. Cynda heard him thank her for all she did. He took his cuff keys and freed her, then relieved her of the papers she carried.

“Looks like a picture of Connemara, that first one,” Delilah said. “The Abbey’s marked.”

Nick’s smile faded as he studied the documents.

Cynda heard a high-pitched noise in her head, as if her thoughts were trying to short out. She started to shake.

What had Sister Julia said about Mother Keara?

That blight should be scrubbed from this mortal plain any moment now.

She thrust out her arm and stared at her pulsing tattoo. Mortar, pestle, and broom joined around the dark crescent moon. Now she focused on it. Now she listened, with every fiber of her being, to the simple message it spoke.

Not “noise” from the adepts being nervous about the raid.

No.

An actual communication, from far away, barely intelligible but carried by a force of need unlike any Cynda had ever known.

Help…Help…Help…

Her heart beat in time with the words. “These are diagrams like Merilee would make,” Nick said as he came down the stairs faster than he went up, but Cynda barely heard him. “Tacticals. Schematics. And photos, too, some aerial. They’re marked with today’s date.”

Freeman and the OCU limped toward the stairs.

So did the Sibyls who could still move.

Cynda grabbed the papers out of Nick’s hand and felt his hand steady her from behind as she shuffled through them.

Connemara.

No…

Topical maps. Routes. To the Abbey.

“No, no, no! Fuck! This is Kylemore.” She waved a photo and diagram of the Abbey, with big Xs in key spots.

Her skin went past hot. Her entire body smoked and burned. “The tunnels have been marked,” she shouted. “No!”

The secret routes through the mountain. The routes that led to Motherhouse Ireland.

The ink on her forearm sizzled deep in her skin, repeating its plea time and again. The Mothers only had a handful of initiates still in residence. The rest were here with Cynda, or deployed to other cities to fill the gaps.

She dropped the papers.

Raw heat, pure fire fueled her legs and arms as she yanked her sword free from the ex-nun’s body and sheathed it, blood and all.

Please let us be in time
.

Cynda started running, with Nick beside her.

“They’re attacking Motherhouse Ireland!” she called to the Sibyls and initiates as she streaked past them, headed toward the nearest communications platform in a triad house about two miles away.
“Move!”

24

Nick helped Cynda through the front door of the Queens duplex. She was breathing hard from the sprint to the vans and the speeding drive from South Ozone Park, and he could tell by the look on her face she was exhausted.

Fourteen of the surviving New York City Sibyls—the ones who could still move—ran, fell, or hobbled in behind her.

After that came the surviving initiates, covered with grime, splinters, and blood. The nine young women crammed into the space around the older warriors, grimfaced, hands on the hilts of their swords. Delilah Moses brought up the rear, walking better than some of the Sibyls. The old woman absolutely refused to be left at the Ozone house, and nobody had time to fight with her. Besides, as she had reminded them twice already, they owed her.

The whole place stank of gunpowder, copper, and sweat.

Nick had never been here before, but like all Sibyl dwellings, the duplex had a giant table, a bunch of mirrors on the walls, and a ceiling lined with wind chimes. The metal pipes rang as soon as they got the door closed. Rhythmic sounds. Urgent beats. Cynda and the fire Sibyls were sending out the call for help. In minutes, the message would travel all over the world.

Harper Ellis jumped onto the platform and got busy, leathers smoking as she danced. Cynda stood beside Nick, tight-lipped, her green eyes wide and haunted. Every few seconds, she gave off sparks and little spurts of fire. He didn’t think he had ever seen her this upset.

His gut boiled at the sight of her pain. If he could have carried it for her, he would have. And what did it mean, if Motherhouse Ireland bit the big one? Nick wasn’t sure, beyond the loss of people Cynda loved, but it felt like a major imbalance in the universe. Like the whole Sibyl network might collapse.

Was that what Sister Julia had wanted?

It was damned sure what the Legion wanted.

But not Jake, or the rest of those poor bastards.

Nick hoped most of the captive demons got away clean, that they were headed someplace peaceful and safe, for a good long time.

As for him and the Sibyls, from what Nick could reason out and piece together, the situation was fucked up beyond comprehension. They had no way of knowing how many demons were in Ireland, how many would keep fighting even though their mistress was dead—or how many of the creatures weren’t and never had been under Sister Julia’s control.

The Legion was in this now, up to their bloodshot eyeballs.

He had no doubt those crazy bastards were calling the shots.

With his free hand, Nick pulled his cell from his pocket and punched Creed on speed-dial. The damn phone refused to connect. Again. It had been doing that off and on all the way to the duplex.

Sibyl energy.

He tried again. This time, the call went through.

Nick put the phone to his ear and cursed under his breath as his twin’s voice mail picked up after one ring.

It was a thirteen-hour drive from New York to Atlanta, if they didn’t take too many piss breaks. The caravan should be there by now. Riana and Merilee should be in contact with that water-demon thing.

“We’ve got major trouble,” Nick said into the phone after Creed’s voice mail beeped. “Sixteen March, around eleven-hundred hours. Get your ass and all the Sibyls you can find to Motherhouse Ireland. Legion attack. Let me know you got this message.”

He punched off and pocketed the phone, leaving the ringer on high.

It was the third message he’d left, and still no callback.

Cynda tensed beside him, and Nick’s attention shifted to the platform.

Harper Ellis had her arms in the air. Sweat covered her young face. She was frowning. Her feet slowed down. Stopped. She whirled to Cynda, eyes wide. “I can’t get through. That’s never happened! I don’t know what to do.”

“Get off the table,” Cynda told her.

The kid jumped straight from where she stood, bumping into a few of the battered Sibyls. They muttered to the girl, but kept her from falling on her ass.

Cynda broke away from Nick, loading more smoke into the room as she went.

He didn’t know what to make of her expression. Fury, mingled with fear. And yeah, determination. Before she started dancing, she caught his eye.

“Communications might be down,” she said slowly. A little too slowly. Her gaze flicked to the initiates. “I’ll have to open both ends of the channel from here. It’s tricky.”

The older Sibyls in the room straightened. He saw the women lay hands on their weapons as they spread around the table, earth with earth, air with air, fire with fire, and joined hands.

Tears coursed down a few cheeks.

Cynda started to dance. Fire flared from her shoulders, and cropped up along the communications platform’s lead-lined lip.

Nick watched, wondering how Sibyl communications could be down. Sibyls used mirrors and chimes to talk, for God’s sake. It wasn’t like glass and metal pipes couldn’t get cell signal.

Was something blocking the ancient channels?

Could that even happen?

Wait. Wait a minute…shit.

Maybe the communications area had been breached. Or maybe the Mothers and all the Sibyls at Motherhouse Ireland were already dead.

Cynda had gotten his attention because she was worried about the young fighters, and how they’d react if she yanked open the channels to reveal a stone hall full of corpses—or demons.

To hell with that.

Nick strode forward, pulse pounding in his fists and neck.

No way was Cynda beaming herself into some battle or slaughterhouse without him.

By the time he reached the table, he sensed more tension in the room. That weird energy, that sense of something huge about to break open. He had felt it before, when he’d watched Cynda do her steps back at the townhouse.

Nick ducked under the Sibyls who had locked arms beside the table.

Something buffeted his back. Wind. Earth energy. A lot of heat.

He absorbed what he could, knowing the women had to be supporting Cynda, concentrating their elemental talents on the dance she was doing. He jumped from the floor, vaulting over the table’s ring of fire just as the flames jumped higher. His raid jacket smoldered as he landed on the flat, wooden surface a few feet away from Cynda.